War of the Overworlds
by DavidGarrettAbbott
Summary: For many beings, this yearly competition is a 'friendly' and 'fun' deadly sport, that only the toughest can excel to greatness. Many of the competitors being quite infamous figures among several different communities. It was a hard game to win, but they wouldn't give up without a fight. For one individual, however, it was the start of something new.


_Prologue_

In some unfathomable fashion, they always knew.

He'd prefer to think it was some long-forgotten animal instinct. Like the way a wolf could sense the difference between an animal lover and an animal abuser. The ways ocelots always seemed to be aware of when to bolt for the jungle, leaving only minimal seconds and inches to spare between the wild animal living, and the hunter's blade. Sometimes, there were some unforeseen scenarios that occurred with certain animals, yet, their endings were always inevitable. Whether it would take a few seconds, or a few decades. The animals would consistently die due to a number of reasons.

However, the sentient beings of the Overworlds were a larger problem and more time-constraining. Yes, they eventually met their deaths, but they take a much _longer_ time to perish into dust. And killing them… the process of their execution has many downfalls. Being one of the main facts is that they can fight back is a problem. In this world, in this day and age, combat, whether melee or with a weapon, is quite common. The second factual occurrence is that they all hang out in numbers. Always in their own little social groups, and rarely is there a being who prefers the 'Lone Wolf' option in life. Which is a major frustration in his mind.

But it didn't often matter to him. He was patient. Very patient.

If he needs to get everything right down to perfection, if he wants to succeed his life-long goals and dreams, he needed to be patient. He learnt that at a very young age. He never _ever_ rushed his plans. There wasn't any need to. He wasn't desperate, He methodically looked three steps ahead of the game he chose to play, that moulded his life. He would take as much time as he would appreciate, feeling the pulse under his palms, slowing, fluttering, _dying_. Listening to wordless gasps for air, in utter confusion and shock. Observing the light flickering in their eyes, before it eventually faded. He could feel his own heart, what was left of it, quicken in anticipation and mild excitement.

But this was not the time to get ahead of himself. He focused himself to the task at hand. If he was anyone else in his place, they wouldn't last five seconds against this being. Which is what made this entire situation even more intense, with more tension that even a knife couldn't penetrate.

How beings would expect an unexpected attack always varied through the individuals themselves. Some, quite usually, expect an attack to come from behind. It made a lot a sense to him, indecisively. But it was, in most cases, from an arrow shot many metres away, so many felt they would easily dodge the oncoming attack. By sword, they would quickly motion to the side, chopping off the combatants limbs in the process. He's seen so much of this himself, that it was uncommon if it hadn't occurred again, ever. So the execution of such attack would have a big downside. There was a way to combat this problem.

He attempted many strategies in the past. Figuring that shooting a silent yet deadly arrow wouldn't get the job done efficiently, they mainly consisted of him sneaking up behind the victim. But, to his confusion, it often resulted in an unhealthy amount of unnecessary running and screaming. This scenario oddly enough let too little-to-no amounts of unwanted attention onto him. Or it would turn into a battle, which, even he admits, would be too much of a task to realistically handle out. He often would lose, if push came to shove, and would often escape with relative ease. And then the entire area would be on alert, for a 500 meter radius. And _that_ was frustration, feeling failure right before him. Yet, after all these years, he still hasn't been suspected.

As the days went on, he learnt very valuable information due to trial and error: the key was to pick the right place with exact timing. Otherwise, everything went to the Nether. Preferably something near a good source of parking and with some obstructions in the way, large enough to hide behind. Otherwise known as, a wall, in many instances.

Many individuals (perhaps so much that it may even seemed scary to consider the large, possible number) seemed to expect to be followed; they rarely seemed to anticipate that their assailant would be waiting for them. But he didn't complain.

But, as it unfolded, things were much less than ideal. The individual was a figurehead for many people. A _major_ figurehead. He was well known inside of the communities, some liking him much more than others, but nothing too extreme. Yet, he was supposed to be alone, wandering the dark streets. He was with a group. And he was a little upset due to this.

He vaguely wondered why he wasn't with himself. He figured that, with the upcoming event, that everyone would be relatively busy. But today wasn't his day to exact his plan. Swiftly hiding behind a tree in the bushes, he watched the group walk down the alleyway, his chances slim on ever possibly harming _one_ of them, let alone six. You shouldn't ever mess with a group. Things never end with your limbs intact, as he's observed.

With the plan out the window at this point, as he watched the group move out of distance, he pondered to himself over future plans. It didn't take long to find an answer, where he disappeared into the darkness.


End file.
